


The Noise In the Attic (or, Grooming, Interrupted)

by PepperVL



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Gift Fic, Halloween, Let Crowley Say Gosh, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperVL/pseuds/PepperVL
Summary: Halloween night, Aziraphale and Crowley are enjoying time together in their cottage in the South Downs. But they're not alone. A noise in the attic interrupts them and they have to figure out who—or what—has gotten inside their house.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42
Collections: Trickety-Boo! Exchange





	The Noise In the Attic (or, Grooming, Interrupted)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silvercolour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/gifts).



> For the wonderful [silvercolour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour) who has been most patient while I was dealing with Real Life and scrambling to finish this fic. I'm SO sorry it's late and I hope you enjoy it!

Wind howled across the hills of Devil's Dyke, carrying with it dark, heavy clouds and the threat of a storm. Orange and brown leaves were ripped from trees as it blew; in the nearby villages, the streets emptied as inhabitants sought shelter from the unseasonably cold gusts. Signs creaked and gates banged in the wind, and darkness settled over the villages in the South Downs, creating an ambiance any horror director would have loved to capture.

It was, in all, a perfectly spooky night.

A bit too perfectly spooky for Aziraphale, who thought it much more likely to be at the whim of the demon he expected to waltz[1] through the door at any moment. He was, after all, quite literally older than dirt, and in that time had learned that coincidences such as perfectly spooky weather blowing in just as the village’s outdoor Halloween festivities concluded didn’t happen often. There was a slight chance, he supposed, but—

The door flew open, slamming hard against the wall as the wind blew Crowley inside. He heaved the door shut, holding it closed with one hand as he flipped the lock, and glared at the wall until it sheepishly repaired itself. Aziraphale, who absolutely had not jumped when the door slammed open, raised one eyebrow. “Laying it on a bit thick tonight, aren’t we?”

Crowley scoffed, dried himself with a shake, and sauntered across the room to Aziraphale's chair. “What the Heaven do you mean?”

“All… this.” Aziraphale made a vague gesture meant to indicate the weather outside.

Crowley poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle Aziraphale had sitting on the table and slid down in his own chair, squirming a little as he settled. “And what is this?” he asked, copying the gesture.

“Oh, you know, the–the weather and the–the, well, I don’t know, but I’m sure you did something at the festivities to liven things up a bit.”

“Wait.” Crowley sat up and pulled off his sunglasses as he leaned forward. “You think I did this?”

“Well, didn’t you?” Aziraphale had been so certain, but Crowley never lied to him and there was no fathomable reason he would start now. “It’s a terribly large coincidence.”

“Be that as it may, angel, I had nothing to do with this.” Crowley leaned back and squirmed again, rubbing his back against the seat. “It ruined my wings.” He groaned at Aziraphale's shocked expression. “Don’t look at me like that. Everyone thinks they were an elaborate costume.”

“Well, I’m certain they aren’t ruined.” Aziraphale frowned. “I’m not sure they can be ruined.”

“Fine.” Crowley leaned forward and let his wings out, so they draped over the arms of the chair and brushed against the ground. “But it’s going to take ages to get them in order again.”

All Aziraphale's doubts about the origin of the storm vanished when he saw the sorry state of Crowley's wings. They were worse than his had been before Crowley started grooming them regularly, and Crowley had always taken much better care of his wings than Aziraphale. “Oh dear,” he said, wringing his hands together as he forced himself not to reach out and fix the feathers closest to him.

It was only when Crowley pulled his right wing around to the front and contorted into a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, no matter how many vertebrae he had[2] that Aziraphale remembered he could touch now. Heaven wasn’t going to pop in unexpectedly and chastise him for touching a demon. He was a free agent and could do whatever he wanted.

And right now, that was groom Crowley's wings.

He nudged the footstool out from under his chair[3] and silently asked it to expand until it was a lounge that Crowley could lean against as Aziraphale worked. A snap brought wing grooming tools to the side table and a glance had a white ribbon marking his place in his book. “Crowley?”

“Hmm?” Crowley pushed his wing down and peered over it, blinking eyes that had gone fully yellow. He’d taken off his sunglasses after starting on his wing, which let Aziraphale see the moment Crowley saw the changed footstool. “You. Uh. That’s new.”

“Yes, well, I thought that maybe it would be…” No, that wasn’t quite right. “That perhaps you would….” Still no. “That is…” There was no good way to dance around it, no reason for him to feel like he should, so why was it so hard to just say? “Would you like me to help? With your wings, I mean. I thought, well, I know I don’t do as good a job as you do usually, but you look so uncomfortable and I could at least get them a little neater for you?”

Crowley pulled his right wing back to a more natural-looking position and arched one eyebrow. “You want to groom my wings?”

“If–if you ‘d like.” There was no call for him to be so nervous about this, but the idea of running his fingers through Crowley's feathers was making Aziraphale’s stomach churn, though he couldn’t tell if it was with anticipation or the fear that Crowley would say no.

Probably both.

“All right.” Crowley smiled at Aziraphale the way he always smiled when Aziraphale started rambling about inconsequential things, the way that said you’re being ridiculous, but I adore it, and sat straddling the former footstool, folding his arms atop the raised side and letting his wings rest against Aziraphale's legs. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” And it was. Crowley's feathers were soft and silky as Aziraphale straightened them out, and the down at the base of his wings was fluffier than Aziraphale imagined. It was a silly thing to think—Aziraphale knew what angel feathers felt like—but when he’d seen Crowley's wings, he’d always assumed that his feathers would feel different. Not because he was a demon—Aziraphale had lost most of his early misconceptions about demons in general and Crowley in particular by the time of the Flood, if not before—but because Crowley always put so much effort into showing a sharp edge. It made sense that his wings would reflect that too.

But this? This was divine.[4] Aziraphale lost himself in the motions, first straightening the feathers that had been blown out of place and then taking the time to smooth each one until it lay perfect. Crowley had always kept his wings immaculate, and Aziraphale wasn’t going to do any less. Crowley deserved the best. And Aziraphale was afraid if he messed up, Crowley wouldn’t ever let him do this again.]

He’d finished Crowley's right wing and was halfway through the left when he heard someone say something he couldn’t quite make out. “What was that, dear?”

“What?” Crowley lifted his head from where it rested on his hands and blinked at Aziraphale. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t?” Aziraphale listened for the sounds of people walking by their cottage—they were on the outskirts of the village, so it was rare, but it did happen—but he didn’t hear anything. “I must be imagining things.”

Crowley didn’t relax. “You don’t usually imagine things, angel. Want me to go look outside?” He started to stand and Aziraphale stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Sit. Let me finish. It’s probably nothing.” And if it wasn’t, well, it was probably just people out having fun. The main festivities in the village had concluded for the night, but that didn’t mean people weren’t going to continue the celebration.

“All right.” Crowley sat back down, but he didn’t relax the way he had before, not even when Aziraphale started back on this left wing, repeating the motions that had left Crowley boneless[5] beneath his hands earlier.

Aziraphale understood. He wasn’t finding the act of grooming Crowley's wings to be nearly as soothing either. He’d been in a meditative state before, focusing solely on the feathers beneath his fingers, but now he felt he could only half pay attention to the task at hand just in case something happened. What if some of the locals got sloppy drunk and decided to turn to vandalism? Crowley had a greenhouse that could be easily damaged, and while none of Aziraphale's books were outside, there were a few chairs he quite enjoyed sitting in while Crowley worked in the garden. It would be an absolute shame if they were to get ruined. And that wasn’t even mentioning what could go wrong if anyone drunkenly tried to get inside!

Those thoughts preyed on his mind as he worked, grooming Crowley's wing almost instinctively as he focused on what could happen. His thoughts raced as he listened hard for any sound indicating anything was out of place. What if they damaged not just the greenhouse but the plants inside? What if they broke into the house, the sanctuary he and Crowley had worked so hard to build? What if they were more than drunk human revelers? What if? What if? What if?

Creak.

Aziraphale looked up toward the sound, eyes wide with alarm. That had come from inside the house. Not the first floor—this room was an add-on to the back of the house and only had an attic above it. A difficult-to-access attic, though Aziraphale had never thought to try to access it from the outside. Had someone gotten in? What if someone had been inside for some time and they were just now noticing? Aziraphale had heard stories of things like that happening—mostly from Crowley, who thought they were hilarious, but he had no reason to doubt that they were true.

“It’s just the house settling, angel.” Crowley didn’t look or sound sure of himself, but what else could it be?

Aziraphale nodded, though it was more out of hope that Crowley was right than any confidence that it was true. “Right. Of course. Houses do that.” Theirs had never dared before now, at least not since they’d moved in, but it was a spooky night. Maybe the house was trying to live up to the mood. “Nothing to worry about at—”

Creak. Creeeaaaak. Creak-creak.

Aziraphale stood, forgetting about the last few feathers on Crowley's wing. “That was not the house settling.”

“No.” Crowley was on his feet as well, tucking his wings away as he moved toward the closet that had the attic access. “There’s something up there.”

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t be up there.” Aziraphale followed after Crowley, clenching and unclenching his fists as he tried unsuccessfully to calm down. “Maybe whatever it is will just–just go away! Yes! We could just ignore it and–and tomorrow it will be gone. Nothing to worry about at all!”

“There’s something in our house, angel. We can’t just ignore it.” Crowley pulled open the door and started pulling boxes[6] from the top shelf of the closet. “What if it’s from our old bosses?”

Aziraphale looked up in alarm. “Surely they wouldn’t send someone to–to the attic?”

“Maybe they missed! It’s not like we have a communication portal in the living room.” Crowley pulled out the final box and reached up to open the panel that provided access. “It’s probably Heaven if it is one of them. Bit harder to get to the attic from Hell.”

“Yes. I suppose it is.” That wasn’t at all comforting. The events that led to their retirement proved that Heaven was just as bad as Hell, only they pretended they were better. He shuddered to think what Heaven would do if it was them in the attic.

Crowley set the ceiling panel aside and started to climb up thorough the hole. “All right Let’s see who dared show up—”

“Wait!” Aziraphale leaned into the closet, trying futilely to see around Crowley's body and into the attic. There wasn’t any light on up there—one was installed, of course, but neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had bothered to learn where the switch was located.[7]

Crowley stopped halfway through the ceiling and looked down at Aziraphale. “What?”

“If it is Heaven, perhaps I should go first?” He didn’t sound at all confident. He wasn’t at all confident, to be honest. He hadn’t had any contact with Heaven since the airbase, and given Crowley's reports of how he’d been treated when they had swapped bodies, he didn’t want to. It didn’t seem fair to send Crowley in first, though.

Crowley dropped to the ground, stepped out of the closet, and bowed as he made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “By all means. After you.”

Right. Aziraphale was going to climb up into the attic and see what—or who—was up there. On Halloween. With an oddly fortuitous storm brewing outside. This was fine. Absolutely tickety-boo.

He took a deep breath, then another one for good measure, and started climbing up the walls. That part was easy—angels and demons could ignore the laws of physics when they wanted, so it was more a matter of thought to step up the walls and through the hole in the ceiling. When his head was through, he paused, looking around the mostly empty space. “Hello?”

He didn’t see anybody, which didn’t mean no one was here. There were a few things in the attic: some boxes, a standing mirror, two chests, and some rolls of insulation in the back corner. Nothing looked disturbed, but Aziraphale hoisted himself fully into the attic anyway so Crowley could follow. “Anyone up here?”

Again, there was no answer. There was no sound except the noise of Crowley clambering through the hole in the floor. “I don’t see anyone,” he said as he brushed dust off his leather pants.

“Neither do I.” But the noise had been real. Aziraphale hadn’t imagined that. Crowley had heard it too. Something was up here. They just had to—

Creak.

Aziraphale whipped around quickly, trying to catch whatever had made the noise behind him. “Hello?”

The smaller end of the attic that he’d entered with his back toward was filled with more rolls of insulation, enough to redo the insulation in the whole attic, if the stuff there now ever failed.[8] He still couldn’t see anything, but he stepped over the hole they’d come up through and walked toward where he thought he’d heard the sound. “Is anyone there?”

Crowley followed close on his heels. “You’d better come out now if you know what’s good for you.”

Normally, Aziraphale would have chastised him for being so threatening, but he felt it was warranted in the current situation. Whoever—whatever—was up here had broken into their home without permission. The wall they were looking at abutted the master bedroom. If they somehow got through it—and Aziraphale wasn’t willing to rule that out since they got in here—they could catch them sleeping![9]

“Yes.” Aziraphale wished he’d thought to grab some sort of weapon. There was nothing up here that would work and he didn’t dare go back down, not after announcing themselves. “Show yourself and we’ll be merciful!”

Cre-creak.

This time, Aziraphale saw a shadow flash across the back of the attic. He jumped and absolutely did not yelp, no matter what anyone said. “It’s over there.”

“Yeah.” Crowley shifted so he was standing in front of Aziraphale, but he didn’t move any closer to the shadow they’d seen move. “We should, uh…”

“Tell it to get out?”

“You’re the one who promised to be merciful, not me.”

“Oh… fine!” Aziraphale took a deep breath, gathering his courage. It was a bit harder to find now that he knew it hadn’t been his imagination. “Come out!”

Nothing happened.

Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, angling himself so he could still see the corner the shadow had disappeared into. “Now what?”

“Well, now I suppose we have to go over there. Drag it out.”

“Right. Good plan.”

Neither one of them moved.

“We have to—”

“Yes, fine.” Aziraphale took another deep breath and started creeping toward the corner. This would be fine. He was an angel. He was made to protect and—

Creak.

Aziraphale startled, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to focus on slowing down his rapidly beating heart and controlling his ragged breathing. Yes, he was an angel made to protect and guard, but he was made to do so with a weapon in his hands. He was made to keep things out of Eden, not find whoever—whatever—had managed to find their way into his attic and drag them out bare-handed. If they were dangerous, if they hurt him, if they hurt Crowley, he didn’t know what he would do.

He forced his spine to straighten, trying to be brave. If this was Heaven—or Hell—he didn’t want to face them like a cowering mouse. He wouldn’t let either know how much they’d scared him, how much his hands itched for a blade or a club or an… an umbrella, even. Just something he could defend himself—defend Crowley—with.

He crept forward the last few steps to the insulation roll and tried unsuccessfully to look stern. “Come out!”

“Please.” Crowley added from behind him.

They got no response.

Slowly, Aziraphale pulled the insulation roll away to reveal…

Nothing.

No one was back there. It was just an empty space. Aziraphale stepped forward, wondering if there was a hiding space he didn’t know about and—

Creak.

Aziraphale jumped back and—

Creak.

“It’s the floorboard.” Crowley stepped forward, putting his foot next to Aziraphale’s, and the floor creaked again.

“Yes, but someone made it creak!” Aziraphale whirled to stare at Crowley with wide eyes. “It didn’t do that on its own. We had to step on it for it to make noise! That means–that means someone else was stepping on it too!”

“Right.” Crowley suddenly looked a lot less confident. He glanced around as if the intruder was just going to be standing off to the side, waiting to be found, then carefully stepped over the creaking board and slid behind the next roll of insulation. When he’d passed it, he crouched and peered in between the rolls. He repeated this twice more as Aziraphale watched, wondering if he would help or hinder if he mirrored Crowley along the outside of the insulation rolls.

He’d just decided it would help when there was a loud clatter from behind the insulation and Crowley scrambled out, only climbing to his feet when he reached Aziraphale. “There’s definitely something back there. I saw eyes.”

Aziraphale glanced around, hoping that his initial inventory of the attic had missed something that could function as a weapon. They had fire pokers[10] downstairs. It wasn’t his sword, but it would have been much better than nothing.

There was nothing up here that would work, though, not even an old umbrella, so Aziraphale stepped up to the insulation rolls and started moving them aside. “What do you think it is?”

“I, er, well, you know. I just saw eyes. Can’t really tell much from eyes. Not human, though.”

That didn’t narrow it down much, but now that they had confirmed something was in the attic, Aziraphale was going to do something about it. “All right. Stay behind me.”

“What? No! Angel, I’m not—”

Aziraphale moved the insulation roll Crowley had been behind and crouched down to peer in between the last two rolls. At first, he saw nothing; then, a pair of glowing yellow eyes stared back at him. Aziraphale froze, his gaze locked with that of their intruder as he tried to muster his courage. “H-hello,” he said, not managing to sound nearly as confident as he would have liked. “Can we, er, that is, is there anything we can do to help you?”

“Don’t ask it what we can do to help.” Crowley stepped up behind Aziraphale and leaned in so he could see the eyes as well. “It’s trespassing; it doesn’t deserve our hel—”

“Rrrrarrrrwwww!”

Both Aziraphale and Crowley jumped back as a furry paw swiped at Crowley's face, claws extended. Crowley lunged forward as soon as the coast was clear, hissing and spitting right back.

Aziraphale had seen more than the paw. He stopped Crowley with a gentle hand on his arm, and leaned in closer to the insulation rolls. “Well, hello there.” He reached in and carefully grabbed a handful of fur.

“I-but-angel! What are you doing? That’s a—”

“Cat?” Aziraphale pulled out the upset creature and gathered it in his arms. It—she—was a beautiful tortoiseshell who resisted Aziraphale at first, but quickly settled into his arms and started purring. Aziraphale stroked her back and scratched behind her ears. “You gave us quite a fright, young lady.”

“No, she didn’t.” Crowley stood a few feet away, glaring sullenly at the animal in Aziraphale's arms. “Well, maybe she scared you, but I wasn’t afraid.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Aziraphale stood, cradling the cat close to his chest, and headed toward the hole in the floor.

“I’m a demon. Demons aren’t afraid of cats, no matter how many mysterious noises they make. We make better mysterious noises.”

“Yes, dear.” Aziraphale started to climb out of the attic, but stopped halfway down to look back at Crowley, who hadn’t moved. “Coming?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, and for a moment, Aziraphale wondered if the demon was going to stay up here all night. Then he moved, stalking rather petulantly[11] over to the exit.

When he’d climbed out and replaced both the panel in the ceiling and the boxes that had been in the closet, he glared at the cat, who had made herself comfortable in Aziraphale's lap. “ Gosh, she’s big,” he said, his glare softening as he took in the fluffy creature. You’re not planning on keeping her, are you?”

“What else would I do with her?”

“Throw her out on the street like the trespasser she is?”

“I can’t throw her out on the street! I’m an angel!”

“Then I’ll do it.” Crowley leaned forward, reaching toward the cat as though he meant to take her right this moment.

Aziraphale pulled her away, twisting his torso to protect the cat while he gave Crowley a scandalized look. “You will not.”

“All right, but—"

“She came here because she was scared of the storm. She used to be a housecat until her people left her behind. We are not throwing her outside.”

“Then we’ll take her to a shelter.”

“Or she could just stay with us.” Aziraphale lifted the cat and put his face next to hers as he looked at Crowley with pleading eyes. “Look at how sweet she is!”

“That’s not… I don’t…” Crowley started visibly crumbling under Aziraphale’s pleading gaze. “We don’t have any supplies for a cat. And–and the stores are all closed.”

“We could always miracle them up.”

“You hate miracling things up!”

“Yes, but exceptions can be made in extraordinary circumstances. We’ll miracle up enough to get through tonight and then we’ll go to the pet store in the morning.”

“She could get into your books. And she’ll dig up my plants!”

“No she won’t, will you?” Aziraphale asked the cat. She purred as he stroked her, but he took that as a yes. “See? She’ll leave our books and our plants and our furniture alone.” He could see Crowley waver and almost give in as he said ‘our’ instead of ‘your’ and ‘my,’ and he decided to give one final push. “I’ll let you name her. And I’ll groom your wings every night.” That wouldn’t be a hardship at all, but if Crowley wanted to take it as giving in, Aziraphale wasn’t going to stop him.

“You haven’t finished tonight yet.”

“I’ll do that too. Come sit and let me finish.”

Crowley slid onto the modified stool he’d vacated earlier with a sigh. “Fine.” He turned to look at the cat. “But you and I are going to discuss a proper name. I won’t tarnish my reputation by owning a cat named Fluffy or something equally ridiculous.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t dream of it.” Aziraphale started combing his fingers through Crowley's feathers again, picking up where he’d left off at the bottom of Crowley's left wing.

The cat jumped out of Aziraphale's lap and started rubbing against Crowley's leg and the demon reached down to pet her. “All right. You can stay. You seem too cagey to want a name like Fluffy anyway.”

“She needs a regal name, like—”

“I’m picking it.”

“Of course. And I do believe you’re right about her not wanting a name like Fluffy. The kittens on the other hand…”

“The what?”

“Kittens. Baby cats? I believe she’s carrying a litter of four, though it’s a bit early to tell.”

Crowley glared at Aziraphale, then at the cat. “For Hell’s sake, angel! We are not keeping kittens too.”

“Well, not all of them,” Aziraphale agreed easily.

“None of them.”

Aziraphale just hummed as he groomed Crowley's wing. He had several weeks to convince the demon to change his mind.

### Footnotes

1. Not literally. A proper waltz requires far too much skill for most demons to master, and though Aziraphale was sure Crowley could do it if he put his mind to it, the waltz required two people, and he was already inside.↩

2. More than a human, less than a snake. Crowley had never really bothered to figure out the right number. His spine did what he expected it to do and that was all that mattered.↩

3. He kept it there for nights he wanted to really indulge himself as he read.↩

4. Quite literally, though he wasn’t going to mention that to Crowley.↩

5. Figuratively. Crowley had a loose grasp of human anatomy, but he did master the bones on the inside bit.↩

6. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley knew what was in the boxes. They both assumed the other had packed them and hadn’t gotten around to unpacking them, and neither had asked the other. Probably, they were just boxes that had appeared because everyone has boxes they don’t know what to do with after a move.↩

7. In the closet, on the righthand side.↩

8. It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t dare disappoint either Aziraphale or Crowley, but it did feel better knowing that if some calamity happened, it had backup. This was definitely a strange feeling for insulation, which wasn’t accustomed to having any feelings, and it wasn’t sure how it felt about that.↩

9. Well, catch Crowley sleeping. Aziraphale rarely did, and he certainly wouldn’t until they’d figured out who this was and how they got in, but they could catch him absorbed in a book.↩

10. They didn’t need fire pokers, but humans tended to get hysterical when they saw someone reach in and rearrange the logs in the fire with bare hands.↩

11. Not that Aziraphale would dare suggest such a thing to Crowley.↩


End file.
